


Bart's Very Bad Time

by CMHolden



Series: Riftdale - Line One [3]
Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-20 02:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMHolden/pseuds/CMHolden
Summary: Bart is not having fun on his vacation.





	1. Bart gets scared

Christian sighed, pulling his bag over his shoulder. Bart followed behind him, snivelling and cowering. A gunshot went off somewhere nearby, Bart collapsing.

“God damn it, not again,” Christian sighed, propping him against the wall. He gently tapped his face until Bart came back around. “Morning sleeping beauty. You wanna sleep on the sidewalk, I’ll make it permanent.”

“There was a loud noise Christian… and I’m tired.”

“You’re tired? You’re tired. We’ve been walking for all of 20 minutes and you’re tired. That’s just great.” Bart sniffed, trying not to cry. Christian sighed, “I know a place we can go. Get up.” Bart scrambled to his feet, wiping his eyes. Christian rolled his before setting off again.

\---

“Hey, Christian. Haven’t seen you in a while~,” the woman spoke. She had bleached blond hair, the roots showing deeply. Her outfit left little to the imagination, and her skin was turning blue from the cold. Bart wished he had a jacket to offer her.

“Been busy. I need a room.”

“Don’t let dogs in, sorry pet~.”

“So, what are you doing in them?” he sneered at her. She smiled, her yellow teeth showing as he dragged her cigarette, blowing it into Christian’s face. He didn’t budge, but Bart broke into a coughing fit.

“…You know my price.”

“I’ll pay it.”

“Mm… I think I’d like something new. Hello sweetheart~” She smirked at Bart, licking her front teeth. A hand slammed between the two of them.

“Off limits.”

“Oooh, someone’s getting protective.”

“Kid’s never been kissed. Not your speed.” Bart stood behind Christian, watching the woman.

“… Well, I guess you’ll do. Wanna get your friend set up? You know where to find me~” she said, pulling a key out from between her cleavage. Christian nodded, taking it and leading Bart to a small, rundown looking house. He let him in, dumping his bag on the floor of the loungeroom. He pulled the couch out into a bed.

“There. Happy?” he asked, opening his bag to grab a packet of cocaine out. Bart nodded, holding his bag close as he shuffled to sit on the bed.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” he stated, dropping his bag back to the floor, “Lock the door after I leave.”

“Where are you going?”

“To pay for your room, your majesty.”

“…Do you need to go to the ATM?”  
“What? No. Why?”  
“Why would it take an hour to give her some money?”  
“That’s not wh-… Yeah I gotta go to the ATM. Later.” He left, sighing.

\---

Bart had curled up in his sleeping bag on the bed, clutching his beret to his chest. A window shattered on the other side of the house. Bart let out a small squeak, curling in further on himself. Someone moved heavier towards him. Bart’s heart raced, praying to not be seen.

“Peek-a-boo,” the man said, pulling him up by the back of the neck. Bart screamed, trying to wriggle out of his grip. The man dropped him.

“You haven’t paid the rent.”

“M-my friend went to pay it…”

“Who to? I’m own this place.”

“A young woman?” The man scowled, picking Bart up again, shouting in his face.

“You think that’s funny punk?!” He shook him. Bart screamed again thrashing out towards the man. One fist few into his nose, making the man drop him. Bart grabbed his beret, moving closer to the wall.

“Hey!” Christian called, coming in the door.

“You the fucker?! You him?!” The man flew into a fury at Christian, moving over and pinning him to the wall. Christian drove his knee between the man’s legs but missed the soft spot. The man pressed his hands against Christian’s throat.

“You must be Angel’s ex?” he choked out, before being lifted off the ground. Each breath became harder to grab. Christian felt dizzy as he ran out of oxygen, before being dropped to the floor. He took several deep, gasping breaths, looking up to see Bart holding a baseball bat.

“…Oh god… oh…. Oh my god…” Bart dropped the bat, stumbling away from the unconscious figure at his feet.

“Nice hit…”

“Oh my god… I killed someone…” Bart curled up on the floor, tugging at his brown curls. Christian laughed.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit. You probably just knocked him ou-“

“He’s not breathing, Christian!” Christian put a hand on the man’s neck.

“…He’s fine. Go to bed, I’ll sort him out.” Christian got up and dragged the man out the door and threw him over the fence. He picked his pockets before pushing him into the neighbour’s pool. The man began to thrash around, but couldn’t hold his head above the water. Christian watched as he slowly stopped thrashing and sunk. He went back inside. Bart was still curled up on the floor.

“Bart. Bed. Now.” Bart let out a few frightened whimpers. “Bartholomew. Get up.” Bart got to his feet, stumbling back to the couch-bed. He climbed into his sleeping bag, sobbing softly to himself. He smelt Christian sit next to him, curling into his hat. Christian sighed as he relaxed next to him.

“Night.”

“Goodnight…”


	2. Bart Loses his Soul

“Bart, wake up. We gotta go.”

“Wh-huh?”

“We gotta go, the neighbours found the body. C’mon.”

“B-body?”

“MOVE, Bart.”

Bart scrambled to gather his things up, before being dragged out the door by his arm. Christian shoved him into a car. Bart hardly got his seatbelt on before Christian drove off.

“Cut the coke, Bart.” Bart sighed, organising the cocaine into lines, then holding it up for Christian. He took the wheel as Christian snorted. Christian let out a loud whoop as the cocaine hit him. He pushed the now unconscious Bart out of the way before driving off.

\---

“Where are we?” asked Bart, rubbing his eyes as he awoke.

“Good question. Middle of fuck-ass nowhere.” Christian held a gas station pie out to him, relaxing back in the car. Bart looked around. They were in a different car. Out the window was an abandoned theme park.

“We’re parking here for now.” Christian stated as he checked his phone. He cursed under his breath.

“You wouldn’t happen to have… $200 odd dollars on you, would you?”

“…Christian, I already gave you all of my money, remember?”

“Well, fuck…” he sighed, “Wanna explore the park?”

“No, thank you.”

“Too bad. Come on.”

\---

Bart stayed close to Christian, shivering.

“Can we go back to the car soon?”

“Would you relax? You’re such a pu-” Christian stopped. Bart looked up. A new looking tent stood among the abandoned ones. The sign out front said, “Buying Souls.”

“Ooh, this should be interesting.”

“Christian, I don’t like this, we should head back.”

“C’mon you wimp,” Christian grumbled, dragging him along. Bart whined as they went in. The room looked like a bonfire waiting to happen. It was lit entirely by candles. The only other furnishings were a table and a chair. At it sat a girl with dark black hair, cut into a bob. She sat humming softly to herself, making a wine glass sing by running her finger along the rim.

“… You wish to sell your soul Christian?”

Bart flinched, “She knows your name! We should leave!”

“Chill, I heard you outside. Have a seat and I’ll appraise your souls.” Christian smirked as she kicked out two stools from under the table cloth. Christian took a seat, Bart hesitantly followed.

“What can I get for my soul then, missy?” Christian asked.

“First of all, call me that again and I’ll shove your foot so far up your ass you’ll be able to take your shoes off with your teeth. Second of all, you could not _pay_ me to take your soul. I’d never be able to sell it on.”

Christian pouted. “Well, what about his?”

“Christian, you can’t!”

“I’ll give you $600”

“Deal.”

“Christian!”

Christian shook hands with the woman, taking the money.

“Christian, how could you?!”

“Dude, souls don’t exist, you’ll be fi-”

The woman put her finger to Bart’s chest. The area around it glowed. She pulled her hand back, Bart collapsing against the table.

“What the fuck did you do to him?!”

“I took his soul. Duh. Pleasure doing business with you.” She vanished before his eyes.


	3. Bart is Unresponsive

Christian blinked, confused as he looked at Bart. He was still breathing, so he wasn’t dead. Christian shook him.

“A-alright sleeping beauty, we can go back to the car now.” Bart didn’t respond. The wind picked up outside, the candles going out. The tent started falling apart like the others.

“Ok, Bart you’ve made your point. Get up now,” Christian shook him harder. Still no response. Christian took out his phone, typing in 323 442663. Without even needing to press call, the phone rang, instantly being picked up.

“I saw. I’m on my way,” was all Dad said before hanging up. Christian gently poked Bart with his foot, sending him toppling to the floor. The blinding light of fatherly love filled the room.

“Son, you know I believe in you but… seriously, what the fuck?” Dad said through a painfully fake smile.

“I didn’t know this would happen!” Christian shouted.

“What did you think would happen?!”

“I thought that we’d leave because souls don’t actually exist!”

“…Well, you were wrong.” He picked Bart up, “Christian, I need you to look into my eyes. Whatever happens, do not break eye contact with me, ok?”

“What happens if I do?”

“Your brain will melt and slide out of your nose and there’s nothing I can do if that happens.”

“That is… a pretty compelling reason,” muttered Christian, closing his eyes to wet them before staring into Dad’s.

\---

Christian took a shaky breath as he fell to the floor. He coughed violently.

"Just breathe kiddo," said Dad, standing over him. Christian looked around. He appeared to be lying on a living room floor. The room looked like it was freshly out of a catalogue. If it wasn't for a well-placed teacup and an imprint on the couch, there would be no sign it had ever been sat on. The armchair on the other side, however, looked very well used. 

"I'm in the kitchen!" the voice struck fear into Christian's soul. Dad carried Bart through the doorway. Christian got up, following. Mom was drying her hands on a tea towel. She froze. 

"Of course you were the one to sell his soul. See, if he was in time out  _like I said_ this wo-"

"Don't start, Bart's already dying."

"What? But he's breathing," Christian stated, not wanting to move any closer

"Yes, but he has no soul. Meaning the body is losing its grip on it, meaning that while the vessel survives, Bart dies," stated Mom, climbing up to reach the top shelf of her pantry.

"Y'know, you could just ask for help," Dad said, holding his hands over Bart's head. A small purple glow surrounded Bart's face as if he was using some sort of magical life support.

"I don't need your help," she snapped back. She threw a handful of the contents into a cooking pot, stirring as she went. Christian stood awkwardly in the corner, not being of any use to either of them, but also having butt fuck all idea of where he was.

"Go take a shower, Christian."

"...I'm fine."

"Go take a shower."

"I-is there any way I ca-"

"Christian, neither your mother or I have any concept of smell, but we both know that you smell terrible. Shower. Now. Then get into your pyjamas and go to your room."

"...M-my room?"

"Christian, please. Just do as I say. Shower. Now." his voice dropped, causing Christian to jump. He walked down the passage, opening the door on the left to go into the bathroom.

 


	4. Bart is Alive (Mostly)

While comfy and warm, the ducky onesie was not very dignified. Christian sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. His skin was lighter from being clean, and his hair was fluffy.

“I’m a full-grown man and I’m dressed like a toddler,” Christian mumbled to himself. There was a knock at the door, Dad sticking his head in.

“…Bedtime kiddo. Your mother’s decided to send you to bed without dinner… so…”

“And you’re listening to her because?”

“…It was either that or Time Out.”

“…Fair enough.”

“Come on sport, I’ll tuck you in.” Christian followed Dad out, following him down the hall.

“Dad… why does this place seem so familiar? How did I know where the bathroom was?”

“It’s your parent’s house kiddo, of course it’d be familiar~”

 _No point arguing that,_ thought Christian. Dad opened the door to a room with two beds. Both had been made up with dinosaur printed sheets, each had a hot water bottle prepared for them. Mom stood behind Bart. He sat at a vanity as Mom combed his hair. His onesie was printed with little rainbows.

“Bart, are you ok?” asked Christian. Bart stared blankly at his reflection, closing his eyes as Mom kissed the crown of his head.

“He can’t answer you Pumpkin, he’s only got a survival soul in him.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well,” sighed Dad, “Think of it as one of those little… heart-beat machines you humans have… y’know, the ones that make your heart beat when it doesn’t?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Well, this soul basically acts as a way for the body to survive. He’ll be dependent until we get his other soul back…” Dad explained. Mom helped Bart into bed, tucking him in. She kissed his temple, gently stroking his curls.

“Don’t stimulate him too much.”

“I’m not over stimulating him, I’m just putting him to bed. Get off of my case, as the kids say.”

Dad rolled his eyes, leading Christian to his bed, tucking him in as well. He gave Christian’s hair a ruffle, before picking up a book.

“No, I’m reading them the story!” declared Mom.

“Why can’t I read to them?”

“You get to read to them all the time, it’s my turn!” She took the book from him, “go start looking for Bart’s soul.” Dad sighed and dropped the topic and standing at the door. Mom read them Mother Knows Best, Always. Christian sighed, curling into the plush mattress to listen to the story. He drifted into an unusually soft sleep.


	5. Bart's Not Dead (Technically)

“Come on boys! Up, up, up!” sang Mom, clapping her hands. Christian let out a grumble, trying to bury his ears into his pillow.

“Christian, up!” she said sternly, pulling the blankets off him. He grumbled again, rolling over to look at her. She dropped the blanket, gently shaking Bart and helping him sit up.

“Come on sweetie… let’s get you fed,” she cooed, “You too Christian, come on.” Christian rubbed his eyes, confused. Mom lead Bart out, Christian following them. Dad sat at the kitchen table with a map and several notes written in a long dead language. Mom helped Bart sit at the breakfast bar, pulling a chair out for Christian before returning to her kitchen.

“…Can he hear… at all?” Christian asked, waving his hand in front of Bart’s face.

“Basic parental commands, nothing more,” Mom responded, placing an omelette in front of Christian. She cut up Bart’s handing him a fork, “Eat it carefully pumpkin.” Bart ate slowly, his hands shaking. Mom sighed, helping him eat.

“We’ve got the shakes,” she called out. Dad raised his hand in acknowledgement, going back to what he was reading. Mom pushed Christian’s plate towards him, silently telling him to eat. Christian sighed, cutting himself a piece and popping it into his mouth.

“Holy shit…”

“Use your fork Christian.” Christian did as he was told, clearing his plate. Mom took both and put it in the sink.

“Go help your father Christian, I’m going to give Bart a bath.” Christian sat next to Dad, looking at some of the sketches he’d done.

“…Any of these look familiar?” Dad asked quietly. Each sketch had a symbol, as well as a few faces. Christian looked over them.

“That’s the girl there…” he said, pointing to an image, “But none of the symbols look familiar.”

“Really Christian, none of them?”

“…None related to this.” An eye-like design stared at him, silently judging him. Dad sighed.

“That demon’s name is Judy… She’s known for pulling tricks like this.”

“Judy?”

“Yeah, she belongs t-”

“What kind of demon is called Judy?”

“The kind that buys souls illegally. You shouldn’t be able to sell someone else’s soul. What did you even sell it for?”

“…600 bucks.”

“What do you even need that many deer for, Christian?”

“… No like… $600… the money.”

“…Right, that special paper stuff.” He sighed and scratched his hair, “Well… at least we have a place to start. Go get ready for the day… I’ll get myself organised.”

\---

Christian sighed. His clothes were softer than they had been in years. He left the priest tie off, rolling up his sleeves. He went back out to the living room. Mom and Dad were arguing quietly between them, Bart sitting propped up on the couch. Dad sighed.

“If you coddle him, you’ll kill him.”

“Maybe if I got to see my children, I wouldn’t want to coddle him.”

“Don’t blame this on me.” Dad growled, taking his wallet and a piece of paper from the table.

“What’s happening?” Christian asked, flinching at Mom’s glare.

“You’re going with your father to recover Bart’s soul, I’m staying to make sure Bart doesn’t die in the meantime.” Christian nodded, moving to stand beside Dad. Dad sighed.

“Alright… Take a big, deep breath for me kiddo.” Christian did as he was told. Dad snapped his fingers each side of Christian’s head. His vision went slightly purple.

“That will keep you alive out here,” Dad sighed, opening the front door, leading him out.

There was nothing. Literally nothing as far as the eye can see. Dad held Christian’s hand, leading him down what appeared to be bottomless flight of stairs.

“We’re are we going?”

“Hell, basically.” Dad stepped off the edge of the stairs, falling into the abyss, dragging Christian with him.


	6. Bart's Watching TV

Christian screamed, clinging to Dad’s arm.

“It’s ok kiddo, look at me,” cooed Dad. Christian opened his eyes. The nothing was much more colourful, as if someone added a gradient of every possible colour on repeat. Christian swallowed hard, watching them bubble past.

“I’d never put you in danger kiddo, you know that,” Dad said softly, “Try floating for a bit. I won’t let you go, I promise.” Christian released his grip on his arm but continued holding his hand. Dad smiled at him, laying back with a smile.

“I don’t feel so good…” Christian muttered. Dad pulled him back in, holding him close.

“Oops, missed our turn off,” Dad muttered. He turned so he was no longer laying back. Christian hid his face in Dad’s chest, stomach lurching as he felt them move up.

“… We’re here Christian. Open your eyes.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick Dad…” Christian felt Dad move him to face away as breakfast made a second appearance. Christian finally opened his eyes as his half-digested omelette floated off into the abyss.

“…Ew.”

“Yeah… Happens a lot. The amount of times I’ve had to help clean puke that floated into the Parental Chambers is astounding.”

“The what now?”

“Not important. Come on.” Dad lead him to a store front, leading him in.

\---

Mom hummed softly while knitting, Bart staring at the TV.

“Have they found you your soul yet Bart?” Mom asked, looking up to see them on the TV. Bart’s eyes were glazed over.

“That was a waste of eggs, wasn’t it?” She sighed. Bart made no movement.

\---

The store looked like an old curio shop, filled with odd shaped bottles.

“Dad, such a pleasure!” called a voice. A small creature scurried out from the top of the shelf. They pushed a large pair of glasses up the curve of their snout. It was as if someone tried to mix a tyrannosaurus rex with a mouse, gave it feathers down their back with the face of a frog.

“Darius~ How are the kids?”

“Oh, they’ve just began mutating~ Never been prouder in my life.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m looking for your mother, is she around?”

“I’ll go get her~” The little creature scuttered off.

“… Why did she call you dad?”

“They didn’t, you just heard that because you’re my son.”

“Wait, what?” A woman came out, holding a clipboard.

“Lilith! Look how you’ve grown!”

“Heya Mister Dad, Mama’s not in at the moment. You’re welcome to wait, or I can pass a message on.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time. My son’s soul’s been stolen from him and I need to track it down.” Lilith looked at Christian, confused.

“I mean, it’s pretty shit condition, but it’s still there…”

“No, not him, this is Christian. Christian, say hello to the nice lady.” Christian gave a half hearted wave. “We’re looking for my son, Bart.”

“Ah! Right! Well, I don’t know if Mama can really help you. Me and Judy do all the soul trade books now.”

“Judy’s working the books?”

“…Yeah, why?”

“Well… Christian thinks she may be the one who took my son’s soul.”

“…My sister wouldn’t take a soul. She doesn’t do that anymore, Mister Dad, she buys them honestly.”

“Uhh…” stuttered Christian, “I may have sold it to her, even though… it wasn’t mine to sell.”

“…You have a habit of that, I see,” she sneered. Christian felt her glare pierce through him. “Judy! Get down here!”

The demon from the tent came down, holding some odd food.

“…Sup?”

“Did you buy a soul off this man?”

“…Probably.”

“What do you mean, ‘probably’?” Lilith asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“It was a busy day, ok? Get off my ass, man.”

“The soul you bought could be illegal Judy, and Mama will kill you if you sully her name.”

“But I paid him and everything!”

“It wasn’t his soul to sell, Judy,” reasoned Dad, “And my son will die without it. Please.” Judy sighed and crossed her arms.

“What was your name again?”

“Christian.” Judy pulled out a large book, flicking through it.

“What was your friend’s name?”

“Bart”

“Bert, Bob, Billy, Burt, Burrt, Burp… Bart… Uh… the artsy guy?”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“Jar uh… Jar 314,” said Judy. Her sister went to check the storage.

“Jar 314 is empty,” She said with a sneer, “Let me guess, busy day?”

“I dunno, check the register,” Judy grumbled. Lilith rolled her eyes, checking the register. Dad was looking visibly annoyed.

“Oh… I was the one who sold it,” muttered Lilith.

“Who to?” asked Dad, leaning over her.

“… Karen and Bruce…” Lilith sighed. She took a paper bag and wrote something in a language yet to exist on it, before filling it with what looked like the rejects from a lightbulb factory. “There’s their address… I know that Bruce is in the Fatherly Quarters… Karen’s probably at home… And for your trouble.”

“Thank you, Lilith. Say hello to your mother for me. Goodbye.” He practically stormed out with Christian in tow.

“Dad?”

“Christian… You’re going to want to climb on for this.” He kneeled for Christian.

“Are you joking?”

“No, I’m Dad~” He smiled, patting his shoulder. Christian sighed as he climbed on, putting his arms around Dad’s shoulders. Dad took three steps forward, launching them both back into the abyss.

 


	7. Bart's Drooling

Mom hummed softly as she watched the TV. He used a tissue to wipe up the drool from his chin, pushing his head back to prevent him leaking.

\---

Dad placed Christian on a small bench, letting him rest for a moment. Christian opened his eyes.

“Woah...” Towered over him was a pristine turret. He couldn’t see the top, but there were soft colour variations in the clouds above. The connected building circled around him, each tower getting slightly shorter. On the other side, there was the same structure, but there were more flowers in the gardens. In the centre of the courtyard was another tall tower which bubbled out at several points.

“Welcome to the Parental Chambers, kiddo,” Dad said, smiling softly, “Behind you is the Fatherly Quarters. Across you can see the Mother’s Lodgings.”

“Who… who are all these people?”

“They’re the parents of other realities… or the parents-in-training.”

“You have to tra-”

“Come on, Christian. We have to find Bruce.” Christian stumbled to his feet, letting Dad lead him into the Fatherly Quarters. The first room looked like a mass living room, full of arm chairs. TVs played football and other vaguely-footballish sports. Every man seemed to have some variation of a “#1 Dad” mug.

“Dad, old sport! How are you?!” called one of the men. He gave a friendly wave, coming over. Dad greeted him with a firm handshake, gently patting the mans other shoulder, the other man returning the gesture in kind.

“Good to see you Spencer, I’ve just been to see your girls.”

“Oh dear, what have they done now?”

“My son, Christian here, sold a soul that wasn’t his.”

“Damn… Look, I don’t want to step on another father’s feet, but might I-”

“If you don’t want to step on my feet, I encourage you to choose your sentence wisely.” Christian blinked. Both men stared at each other, silently daring the other to continue. Spencer cleared his throat.

“Might I… offer any assistance?”

“… Do you know where Bruce is?”

“He’s just been teaching the trainees in reality crafting. Same room as when we were… you know…”

Dad nodded, “Thank you. Come on Christian.” Dad lead him down a hallway. Christian instantly felt like a small child.

“I wanna go home…”

“It’s ok, Champ. We won’t be here too long,” he took Christian’s hand with a soft smile. Christian stayed near him. The walls seemed to warp around, messing with Christian’s sense of direction. Dad stood outside of the door, waiting as a bunch of formless beings left the room. Christian rested his face in Dad’s arm, his head screaming at him to look away.

“Bruce, old sport! How are you?” said Dad, extending a hand. The other man shook it.

“I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m good~”

“Who’s this little guy, then?” Bruce asked, gently pinching Christian’s cheek. Christian felt his heart race, pulling in closer to Dad.

“This is my son, Christian. I need to talk to you, can you meet me in the main lounge? I think he’s about to have a panic attack.” Bruce nodded, grabbing his folder.

\---

Christian sat quietly, sipping on some juice. Dad kept him close as he spoke to Bruce. Christian couldn’t focus on them.

“Dad… Can I go back? Please?”

“…I’m sorry kiddo, but we’ll be heading back soon. We just need to drop by and get Bart’s soul.”

“D-do you have to? I know he’s your son but… She’s been so _depressed_ lately. She needed a child.”

“I know… but he’s my son, Bruce.” Bruce sighed, looking at his feet.

“Alright… Alright…”


	8. Bart is Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's kinda short, oops.

Dad lead Christian out behind Bruce. His hand rang.  
“Hello?” he said, holding it up to his ear like a phone.”

“You need to hurry, Bart’s developing speech and he’s getting bored,” said Mom, desperately trying to get him to watch the TV.

“I told you not to coddle him!”

“I’ve barely said a dozen words to him!”

“Look… Try and keep him Bart-like. We’ll be there soon.” He sighed as he rubbed his temples.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” asked Christian.

“… Bart’s learning to talk and has developed boredom. Basically, the soul is settling into his body.”

“Can’t you just switch it out again?”

“Switching souls too much destroys the vessel. We just have to hurry.”

\---

Mom sighed. Bart stared at her. He had intention in his eyes; he was no longer gazing at anything. Mom watched the cogs turn as he thought.

“… Bart, watch TV.”

“I don’t want to watch TV anymore.” Ugh, defiance. Why did all children have to have defiance? Mom sighed again, stroking her fingers through her hair. The voice was too deep. She went into the games closet, pulling out a simple rattle.

“Here, play with this.” Bart shook it slowly in front of his face, watching as the little beads moved through the clear plastic orb. Mom went to her kitchen, picking up a bowl to stir angrily. She’d decide on what she was making later. Right now, she just needed to bake.


	9. Bart's Soul

The soft motherly hum came from the loungeroom. Christian stayed behind Dad, not really sure what to expect. The house vaguely represented a house, if the person who built it was using a child’s drawing to build it while drunk. The walls warped around with no rhyme or reason. The colours were a mixed pallet of eye sores. A small creature, like a centipede had a disgusting baby with a crocodile and a cockroach, scurried past Christian’s feet. Another creature, straight out a small shop of terrors, snapped at his ankles.

The woman sat on the floor with a little jar on the coffee table. She had too many eyes and sharp pointy teeth. Of her 16 arms, only two were in use. They dropped little snacks into the jar. The contents of the jar glowed blue. The little figure ate the snacks happily.

“Karen…” said Bruce. His form changed to match hers. She smiled with far too many teeth for one mouth.

“Hello darling! Look how happy he is! Isn’t he _marvellous_? ~”

“…Yes dear… But… I don’t think we can keep him.” His hands took hers. Her face dropped.

“Why not? I bought him fair and square. His body would be dead anyway, it’s not like he needs it.”

“…His body isn’t dead my darling… His soul was taken illegally.”

“…Well… just let his body die. I’ll make him a new one.”

“Sweetheart, please understand. We cannot steal the child of a greater parent.”

“B-but…. But that’s not _fair_!”

“Karen, I’m sorry,” said Dad, stepping forward, “But he’s my son. Please. He needs to come home.”

“No! No, it’s not fair! You have _billions_ of children! Billions! But I don’t have _one_ loving child. Not one that won’t fall apart the second I add a soul. It’s not _fair_!”

“I’m not above duelling you for him,” Dad stated simply. Her face fell.

“It’s…it’s not _fair_. She ch-cheats the s-system and g-gets you… and s-she gets k-kids… in a viable universe” she whimpered. She held Bart’s jar. Bruce gently took it, holding her close.

“…We’ll get one. We just… just got to keep trying.” He passed the jar to Dad. She reached for it, wailing.

“ _No!”_ she cried. Dad grabbed Christian, pulling him in. Christian felt a wave of sickness. Dad had protected him from most of the blast but failed to protect him from the start of it.

“ _Go!”_ called Bruce, his voice deep with too many voices speaking at once. Dad dragged Christian out, slamming the door behind him. He sighed, holding Bart’s jar close.

\---

Christian held onto Bart’s jar. The little tiny blue Bart seemed to be flipping him off. Or shaking his fists at him. It was hard to tell. Dad held them both in his lap, slowly drifting back home.

“… Dad… why did she want Bart?”

“… She wants a level 5 child.”

“What?”

“A level 5 child is a child capable of feeling love towards their parents. A level 4 can feel positive emotions towards the parent, a 3 can grow from the love of a parent, a 2 is a part of the parent’s love and a level 1 child is the physical existence of all the other children. Karen and Bruce haven’t been able to conceive a reality… or at least one that’s been able to exist long enough to form any other children. Mothers in that situation get desperate. Us parents need the love of a child to sustain ourselves. A level 5 child can’t exist until all the other children do.”

“… When she said ‘she’ cheated the system… she was talking about Mom, right?”

“…Yeah, kiddo… Originally, I was supposed to be Karen’s partner. Your mother realised that if she stayed with Bruce, she wouldn’t have the level 5 children she designed. She knew I specialised in reality creation. She… She ruined their chances of having a happy life. Her best friend.”

“…Oh.”

 

There was nothing more to be said.

 


	10. Bart

Mom paced at the door. Dad came in.

“Took your time.”

“I went as fast as I could.”

“Not fast enough. He keeps developing.” She took the jar, rushing back to the loungeroom. Bart was playing with some finger paints. He was much more alert.

“I told you not to overstimulate him!”

“I hardly spoke to him! I tried to keep the soul as unattached as possible! Christian, sit in the corner.”

Christian did as he was told without argument. Mom got Bart to lie down on the couch. She loosened the jar’s lid. She watched dad. He gave her a nod. She sat the jar on the table.

She plunged her hand into Bart’s chest. Dad grabbed his shoulders as she flicked the lid off, pulling out his soul. Within a matter of seconds, she had made the switch. Bart screamed as his temporary soul was ripped away and whined as his original soul was slammed back in. Mom put the temporary soul into the jar, placing the lid back on before holding down Bart by the hips. Christian came over, watching Bart wriggle, attempting to get out of the parent’s grasp. He clawed at Mom, trying to bite Dad, before suddenly going silent. Both parents released their grip, but neither fully let him go.

“I-is this…good?” asked Christian.

“…We’ll know soon enough,” said Mom as Bart started to stir again. Christian knelt next to him, watching as he opened his eyes.

“Bart?” Christian asked.

“…W-where am I?”

“Just relax honey,” said Mom, stroking his hair.

“W-who are you people?”

“We’re your greater parents. I can explain later,” said Dad, moving to sit in his recliner.

“A-and you know who I am, right Bart?” Christian asked, watching him. Bart looked at him, confused and dazed. He looked over to the paints, dipping his finger in the white paint and running it across his upper lip.

“Oh… Christian, it is you.”

\---

Mom made them both chicken soup for dinner.

“It’ll help you both feel better,” she said, giving them both large servings. They took turns taking baths before getting back into their pyjamas. They were read their bedtime story and left alone.

“Bart…?”

“What?”

“…How do you feel?”

“Like someone sold something of mine without my permission.”

“…Yeah… Sorry about that.”

“I told you it was a bad idea.”

“Yeah.”

“…So why do you look shittier than usual?”

“I went on a magical fuckin adventure to get your fucking soul back. It sucked, and I feel like I went through several wormholes worth of spaghettification. You’re welcome.”

“You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t sell it in the first place.”

“…Shut up, Bart.”

In the darkness, he heard a soft giggle, followed by the shuffling of an artist going to sleep.

“Goodnight, Christian.”

“…Night Princess.”

\---

Mom sat curled up on her couch with her tea. The soul sat on the coffee table. Dad sighed as he laid back with his hands lying across his chest.

“You know it’s your fault she doesn’t have any kids,” he said softly.

“Technically, now it’s your fault.”

“You know Bart’s soul would have deteriorated there. She doesn’t have a universe that can support basic life. She needs a level 1 child.”

“…I know. It’s not her fault.”

“No, it’s yours.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to get stuck with nothing more than level 3 children. Because that’s what would have happened. We would have all been stuck with level 3 children.”

“…At least we could have all been miserable together.”

Mom let out an angry huff. She put the little, deformed light globes in with the soul.

“… I’ll talk to her at the next PTA meeting.”

\---

Dad went in when both boys were fast asleep. He sighed as he held both their hands, taking them back to the car they left behind. He sat them into the seats, lying them back to sleep. He left the blankets over them but changed them back to their normal clothes. He sprinkled some cocaine over Christian’s face, leaving a note for them. He held his eyes over their eyes. Bart’s memories were the easiest to change, but Christian wasn’t much harder. He kissed both their foreheads before vanishing.

Christian awoke first to read the note.

_Dear Kiddos,_

_You looked cold. I bought you the blankets._

_Behave. I love you and will always be proud of you, no matter what mistakes you make._

_-Dad_

Weird. Oh Well. Bart snuggled under the blanket. The fairground looked uninviting. For some reason, Christian felt scared. He shook it off, starting the car and driving away.


End file.
